


Control

by elloette



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Romantic Tension, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elloette/pseuds/elloette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Clara!” An agonizing scream tore through the stillness of the TARDIS.</p><p>“Help me!”</p><p>A thud.</p><p>A gasp.</p><p>“CLARA!”</p><p>(This is a strong T rating, both for action and for romance.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has a strong T rating. The Doctor and Clara both get pretty roughed up. It's not too graphic, but there is blood in later chapters, in case that makes you squeamish. It's heavy on the hurt but also heavy on the comfort. 
> 
> Endless thanks to Marvella15 for being the best beta and a constant wellspring of encouragement as I continue to make my way through this.

 

“Clara!” An agonizing scream tore through the stillness of the TARDIS.

“Help me!”

A thud.

A gasp.

“CLARA!”

She appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes wide and hair wild.

Feet rapidly tumbled down and knees crashed to the hard metal of the floor next to the contorted form of the Doctor.

“Doctor!”

Worried hands gripped his shoulders as his own convulsed and then anchored themselves hard into her arms.

Another scream pierced her ears.

“Doctor! Oh God, Doctor, what’s happening!”

A strangled gasp and a clang as he threw his head back, hitting the floor while his back lurched unnaturally upwards.

She clutched him tighter and struggled to hang on.

“Help me!” he heaved as he writhed and crushed her arms beneath his white knuckled grip.

“How!”

It escaped her throat like a frantic cry as panic flooded her system and numbing static prickled her skin.

“HOW!” she shrieked, and his torso finally fell back to the floor.

The fingers on her arms relaxed and he inhaled deeply.

Clara leaned over his face, a comforting hand smoothing through his hair and down his cheek.

“What’s wrong, Doctor? Please. Tell me what to do,” she whispered as tears she couldn’t hold back spilled down her cheeks.

Eyes closed he slowly pulled himself up, using her as leverage.

His face, inches from her own, held in her trembling hands.

“Doctor,” she breathed.

No response.

Eyes still closed.

“Doctor?”

They clicked open.

Black and glossy.

She released him with a jolt, falling backwards, scrambling with all her limbs until she hit the base of the console.

She froze.

All was quiet save for her shallow pants.

He sat unmoving, head turned, black eyes fixed on her form.

 

 

 

Clara’s breaths washed over her in rapid succession, extremities tingling and head swimming.

Waiting.

Eyes locked on the Doctor.

Not the Doctor.

She stayed frozen, stiff as stone, the smooth floor slick under the cold sweat of her palms.

Waiting.

Calculating.

Muscles tense, ready to spring.

Its unblinking eyes bore into her.

Waiting.

Lingering tears collected under her chin and silently dripped to the floor.

A minute twitch of its neck gave split second warning.

It lunged towards her at impossible speed.

She dove to the side, kicking down hard against the floor before it could reach her.

Without looking back she clambered up the stairs on all fours and ran to the side, shoving a large chalkboard into the path behind her before turning into a fighting stance, heart pounding.

It wasn’t there.

It stood below her at the console.

“Shit!” she panted.

 

 

 

It absorbed itself in its new task.

Long fingers gliding lightly over buttons, as if examining them.

Learning them?

Extracting information?

It didn’t matter.

Stop him. Stop _it_.

She needed a weapon.

What if she hurt the Doctor?

She needed a distraction.

What did it want?

The TARDIS?

What would it do to her if she got in its way?

What would it do to her with the Doctor’s own hands.

A shudder.

Too many thoughts.

Not enough options.

Clara took one silent step to her left.

It paused, empty eyes snapping to her, halting her movement, stopping her breath.

After long, silent moments, it returned to its task with an unnaturally smooth tilt of the Doctor’s head.

What could she do?

What would the Doctor do if it were her?

Think.

THINK!

She flinched as the TARDIS console sparked with a short burst of electricity.

Hands recoiled from the shock and hung in the air.

A sudden gasp rose from the Doctor’s form, hands slamming into the console, head wrenching to his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut.

A low groan rasped in his throat, growing into a thundering roar as his head righted itself and he gripped the edge of the console, leaning over it.

“GET OUT!”

His booming voice echoed through the large space.

Clara gripped the railing in front of her, terror and triumph coursing through her as she watched him struggle.

Suddenly she was brimming with electricity and flames, synapses firing and gears clicking into place.

Bare feet rapidly padded along the upper level and down the stairs as the Doctor warred with himself.

“Thank you, old girl,” she whispered as a reckless plan formed in her mind.

 

 

 

She grabbed his arm when she reached him, muscles hard and tense under her fingers, every molecule of him fighting the invader.

“Doctor, I can help you.”

No response.

“Follow me.”

Not a command.

A plea.

He stood, tense and frozen, hands still clenching the console.

She took it as a sign he was still himself.

Carefully she slid her hand down his arm and covered his fingers with her own.

“Please. Let me help you.”

Warm, soft fingertips caressed cold, hard knuckles.

She felt his hand gradually relent to hers.

He lifted it and she squeezed it tightly and coaxed him to turn and face her.

Eyes still closed, brow knit tightly.

“Follow me,” she repeated.

She could feel her pulse beat hard through her chest, her ears, her fingertips.

Stepping back with one foot, then another she continued to coax him towards her, arms stretching between them until he took a small shuffling step.

“Good. Good, Doctor. You’ve got it. Keep going.”

She forced the trembling in her voice down her throat and squeezed him tighter.

Eyes still closed, brow still furrowed, he stiffly inched towards her again.

Every movement a danger, a panic.

A waltz on a minefield.

 

 

 

They crossed most of the console room this way, stiff, shuffling, agonizingly slow.

Then slower.

She tried not to think about what that meant and kept moving, every nerve tense.

Finally Clara’s heel pressed into the edge of the staircase that descended below the console.

Before she could work out how to try and get him down them, he stopped, hand and face relaxing slightly.

No.

No no no.

Not yet.

Slowly his eyes opened and Clara lost her footing.

An expressionless face stared back at her, with one familiar blue-green eye, and the other a swath of jet-black.

She stumbled down a step as a cry lost itself between her lungs and her throat.

He detached his hand from hers and she stood frozen.

Unblinking, disparate eyes held her in place.

No other outward sign of the warfare within.

One foot moved slightly backwards.

He started to turn away from her.

No.

Her brain kicked back into gear, determination set on her face.

She lurched for him, clutched the lapels of his coat, closed her eyes, and wrenched them both into the empty space behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The notes from the first chapter apply here. Extremely squeamish readers beware. Everyone else, let's do this thing.

 

Falling.

Suspended yet plunging.

The Doctor hovered above her, his coat tight in her fists.

Time slowed and stretched around them as they fell.

Enough time to accept she was going to land head first, from this height, at this speed, with his weight adding to the force.

Not enough to do anything about it.

She squeezed her shut eyes tighter and tucked her head towards the Doctor’s chest.

Impact.

A hard landing, his body crashing into hers, sliding back together.

Pain.

Empty lungs.

And stillness.

Then a realization as the stinging in her bones settled.

Her head hadn’t hit the metal floor.

Her face was buried in the Doctor’s chest, head cradled in his hands, arms closed protectively around her.

 

 

 

Her heart swelled, but her lungs didn’t.

Panic joined pain and embedded themselves in her still empty chest.

She shoved against him, desperate for air.

His arms were unmovable around her so she rolled them on their sides with the only strength she could muster, limbs entangled.

For long moments she gasped for breath that would not come as pain overwhelmed her. 

Yet she relaxed slightly.

As long as he held her tight, he was still the Doctor.

Swarms of black dots crept along the edges of her vision until her lungs came back to life, coughing and breathing in deeper with each aching inhale.

Her head still rested against his chest, his hands in her hair and his jacket soft on her cheek.

The pain eased as she breathed in his soothing scent, soft, masculine and uniquely him.

His hold hadn’t loosened, but she needed to see his face.

She pulled herself up and back slightly, and slid her leg out from under his.

Her forehead brushed against his chin as she scooted herself higher.

His eyes were shut, face set in concentration, lit by the soft orange glow of the TARDIS’ underbelly.

“Doctor.”

She slipped a hand up to his cheek.

His face softened, only slightly, and the corners of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly upward, but his grip and the muscles of his body remained rigid.

His eyes opened.

They were almost entirely his own except for a splotch of black in the outer corner.

“There you are” she sighed, as her thumb caressed his cheek. “Stay here. Stay with me.”

 

 

 

The blackness was already spreading as the words left her lips, like ink from a well.

His expression fell with his hands as his body began to go limp.

She slid the hand on his cheek to the back of his head, gripping tightly with her fingertips.

“No. Fight, Doctor. Fight it!”

It was no use.

He was slipping away again.

Kind eyes flashed with desperation as they were drowned beneath murky depths.

Once more hollow eyes pierced into hers, mere inches apart.

Now.

She had to act now.

No doing it gently.

Hands flat on his shoulders, she pushed hard away from him and scrambled to her feet.

She spun towards the glowing center of the TARDIS and started for it.

A strong hand swiftly clamped onto her ankle, jolting her backwards.

Knees and elbows hit the floor with a smack.

“SHIT!”

Clara tried to right herself, standing and kicking forcefully against it as it clawed at her and growled.

A demon from the deep.

 

 

 

It gained purchase with the left leg of her pajamas bunched in its hand and closed taut against her calf, yanking her back down to the floor.

It began to lunge at her, and instinct took over as she flipped to her side, brought her right knee up high and slammed her heel down into the Doctor’s face.

It held on firmly and snarled as it tried to grasp her other leg, but she’d already disoriented it with a solid blow.

Her face scrunched apologetically as she reared back and kicked as hard as she could.

Again and again.

Fragile features bludgeoned under her heel.

After several blows it let her go.

She made for the center of the TARDIS once more and cringed as she felt the Doctor’s blood slicking the floor beneath her heel.

 

 

 

Clara reached the center of the room in a few short strides, but the Doctor’s form had already gained on her.

She spun to face it, its black eyes accentuated by dark rivulets of blood coating the Doctor’s mouth and chin, his nose definitely broken.

It studied her like a predator, eyes and blood glistening together in the orange light.

She turned her face away as it leaned in close, breathing through the nose with a sickening thick wetness.

Her heart beat wildly as she twisted her shoulder back and began inconspicuously raising her arm behind her.

She returned her gaze to meet it, head on.

With hard, unfaltering eyes she stared it down, an indignant challenge. 

If it was preoccupied with her face, perhaps the rest of her would go unnoticed.

Or not.

 

 

 

Its eyes darted to the hand rising above her shoulder and it clutched her throat with a growl, squeezing hard, stopping her breath.

Then it froze, fingers twitching but not tightening. 

Demonic eyes seethed into her as it fought to overcome its persistent host. 

It huffed at her, blood splattering her face as she quickly reached up.

Her head pounded from the pressure on her neck and the air trapped in her lungs.

She grasped for the conduits hanging from the floor above her, fingers fumbling, trying to curl around one.

It crushed down on her windpipe as it regained more control, a sinister sneer on the Doctor’s bloody face.

Her hands flew to her throat, frantically trying to pull it off her.

It was useless.

Spots blotched over her vision as she tried to gasp for air that would not come.

She desperately pushed against the Doctor’s blood-soaked chest, but he only swayed slightly as she weakened.

Her eyes darted in a panic, and before her vision went dark she gauged a weak spot and punched into the crook of his elbow with as much force as she could.

The arm bent, almost letting go.

She quickly closed the space between them, finally taking a deep breath, and drove her knee into his groin.

It let her go and she violently shoved into his stomach, pushing him back several feet as she continued to gasp.

She stepped back and stole a fleeting glance above her as it growled.

It charged at her with a hellish roar as she grabbed the closest conduit with both hands.

She yanked it down forcefully as the creature reached her, and with a shower of cascading sparks, slammed it hard into the Doctor’s chest.


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor’s muscles seized as the current surged into him, eyes shut, a silent scream on his lips.

Clara released the conduit as quickly as she dared.

It swung next to them, spilling sparks onto the floor.

The Doctor’s limbs convulsed and smoke rose from the blackened fabric of his shirt.

As his body relaxed he dropped to his knees in front of her.

She moved forward and caught him as he fell into her, head against her stomach.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her firmly and slid shaking fingers to his neck.

Steadying beats.

Alive.

Thank God.

She felt him breathe soft and shallow, his cheek pressed to her.

Grateful hands rose up through his curls and she held him close.

Blood from his injuries seeped through her tank top and wet her skin as the scent of scorched fabric and flesh rose through the air.

The incense of a burnt offering.

 

 

 

Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of what she’d nearly done.

She tried to wipe them away, along with splatters of blood, onto her still trembling hands and arms.

Nothing was cleansed and her arms came away with tacky red smears.

His breath warmed the cooling blood that soaked her shirt. She was as covered in his own blood as he was now.

Whatever damage this creature had done, it was a miracle she hadn’t killed the Doctor herself.

Clara’s heart ached. Physically ached.

New tears fell, dropping into the Doctor’s hair as she nestled her fingertips back into his curls.

The adrenaline that flooded her system waned and everything began to hurt.

The Doctor breathed in deeply and let out a groan that rumbled against her stomach.

“Doctor,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and sore.

Gentle hands slid up her legs and pressed against her knees, steadying himself as he leaned back slightly and looked up at her.

Her hands slipped from his head down to his shoulders and she squeezed them lightly as his eyes, entirely his own, held hers.

She gazed sweetly into them.

They were dazed, exhausted, but contented and bright blue-green.

“Clara...” he breathed, his voice deep and soft.

As he came back to himself he took in her face with tender concern, her neck, then down to her arms and stomach.

He reached up and pressed his fingers to the wet fabric above her waistband, then pushed the hem up with his thumb and slowly swiped it across the exposed skin.

Her muscles tensed under his touch.

The blood wasn’t hers.

He looked back up at her in relief and slid his hand to her hip, his thumb dragging along her skin.

Her heart flipped and she flicked her eyes away from his.

They dropped to the blood on his face, the bruises forming under his eyes and his obviously broken nose, down to his red stained shirt, and then to the dark burns from the cable that was still quietly fizzling sparks onto the floor beside them.

 

 

 

Her stomach sank and guilt overtook her.

She’d done this to him.

And with the amount of voltage she’d discharged straight into his hearts, she could have lost him.

She looked back up and his gentle eyes blurred in her vision.

Small, hot tears flowed through paths outlined in dried blood and the ache in her heart was almost crushing.

Clara breathed in deeply and pain shivered down her nerves. 

It surged abruptly within her, needling her from head to toe.

The Doctor squeezed her hip as her brow knitted and her lips parted.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She clutched his shoulders and shook her head, the fear in her eyes mirrored in his own.

He gripped her hips tightly in both hands.

Her heart was in a vice.

Clenching pain spread up her neck and into her head, constricting and squeezing inward.

Like an implosion it shook her, igniting in her heart and blazing through her veins.

“Clara!”

The Doctor stumbled to his feet, hands still firm on her, eyes never leaving hers.

“No no no,” he begged, voice trembling. 

Her hands moved down and squeezed hard into his arms above his elbows, anchoring herself to him as she bowed her head low.

He held her fast as her knees buckled under her.

She leaned into his chest and he wrapped strong arms around her.

“Hold on, I’ve got you!”

She could barely hear his voice.

It was then she realized she was screaming.

It sounded far away.

So far away.

Like someone else.

 

 

 

Then she felt it.

Someone else.

Dark tendrils pushed around inside her head.

A memory flashed in her.

Swings in the park on a sunny day.

Leaves rustling.

Her mother laughing.

She heard herself screaming distantly.

Another flash hit her.

And another.

Another.

It flicked through her mind faster and faster, prickling into her life with venomous claws.

The Doctor’s voice resonated against her head on his chest, but he still sounded so far away.

“Fight it, Clara!” she felt, more than heard. “Close off your mind. Don’t let it in your memories.”

His voice was muffled and urgent.

The cold blood on her cheek and the smell of burned cotton were so faint they didn’t feel real.

 

 

 

The only things that were real were the searing pain that seized her and the talons that dug deeper into her mind.

Candles on her birthday cake flashed in front of her.

Bullies at school and hating her round face in the mirror.

Her mother’s bright smile.

She fought it. Slammed the memories shut like a door.

It opened another.

And another.

She couldn’t keep pace with it.

It sorted through them faster and faster until her life flickered before her eyes in a blur.

Suddenly the Doctor’s face flashed and it stopped.

It picked through her memories slowly, carefully.

A bow tie.

The TARDIS interior.

An angry sun.

An infinite TARDIS.

Teaching her how to fly it.

She tried to shut the door, but it pushed back, hard needles jabbing into her brain.

She pitched backwards, but the Doctor held her firmly, her head protected in his large palm.

Her legs gave way underneath her and her strained, hoarse shrieking echoed quietly in the distance.

It shred her insides with its sharp claws. 

She felt it smile as it subdued her and she lost the strength to fight.

 

 

 

Agony engulfed her as it constricted her entire body, crushing straight down into her bones.

She heard the Doctor’s muted voice in her ear, “I’ve got you. Clara. Oh, Clara.”

Her name a mantra on his lips.

His breath soft in her hair.

The torture eased slightly, turning into sharp stinging, then to tingling and finally, numbness.

Everything was numb.

Like a dream, she felt herself letting go of the Doctor and standing up.

A marionette on sinister strings.

He held her arms in his hands.

Clara looked into the Doctor’s face, his bright eyes dim, like looking through darkly tinted glasses.

They were filled with worry and horror.

She thought calmly that he’d never looked at her like that before.

He was speaking to her.

What was he saying?

She tried to move but couldn’t, her muscles cold.

Was she dreaming?

Slowly she warmed, like hot liquid pouring into her veins, seeping into her muscles.

She still couldn’t move. It couldn’t move.

The Doctor’s voice gradually became clearer.

 

 

 

He squeezed her shoulders and looked at her intently.

“Hold on a little longer, Clara. Just stay with me.”

His fingertips grazed down her arms and rested at her hips once more.

“Clara,” he paused, “I’m sorry,” he said to her frozen form with apologetic eyes.

His hands slid to the knot on her pajamas.

He looked down and untied it with light fingers.

Hooking his thumbs into the waistband he slid them down until they fell softly to her feet.

He firmly placed one large hand on her upper thigh, then reached for the hanging conduit with the other and pulled it close, sparks illuminating the space between them.

With careful precision he touched the cable to her leg next to his hand, quickly removing it as his fingers tightened around her thigh and they shared the current together.

 

 

 

Clara’s body seized.

Fire ripped through her veins, shooting down her leg and out through her foot into the metal floor.

She felt the vice on her head and muscles loosen.

The talons crushing her body and piercing into her mind extracted themselves.

From deep inside her mind she heard a screeching, mournful sound.

Then everything was quiet.

The Doctor’s muscles unclenched and he slumped again to his knees, letting go of Clara and the cable as he sank down onto the backs of his heels.

Feeling came rushing back through Clara’s limbs, a sharp burning in her thigh, and she collapsed over his shoulder, breathing hard.

He caught her around the middle in his arm and eased her down in front of him, their thighs interlocking.

She blinked large heavy eyes at him, closed them and rested her forehead against his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her small frame and soon felt warm tears drop onto his thigh, and her breaths quietly shuddering against him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, low and sweet. “It’s okay...”

He nestled his cheek to her hair and held her, softly stroking her back, until her breaths flowed long and even.

Then with a gentle hand under her head he laid her down and achingly shrugged off his jacket, covering her with its warmth.

He crumpled to the floor beside her, fingertips on her wrist, and watched her breathe as exhaustion pulled him under too.


	4. Chapter 4

Clara stirred, cold stiff aches in her head, shoulder and hip, a thrumming sting in her leg.

Eyes closed she slowly became aware of her surroundings.

The hard metal floor, slightly humming beneath her.

Warm velvet high on her cheek, soft silk over her arm and down her body.

Cold uncovered calves and soft cotton around her ankles.

The warm weight of an arm draped over hers, heat in front of her face and soft exhales on top of her hair.

A hand underneath one of hers, fingers tenderly curled around the inside of her wrist.

She slowly opened her eyes, aligned with the Doctor’s neck.

He lay sleeping peacefully on his side, directly in front of her.

She glanced up at his top arm laying over her and down at the other hand on her wrist.

She closed her eyes again and smiled, not caring about the aches and pains crying for attention.

‘Not a hugger’ her foot.

 

 

Looking at him again her eyes trailed down to his bloody, scorched shirt, and the moment of electrocution flashed in her mind.

She winced.

It had branded itself into her memory, promising to sting her with the image again and again.

The shirt looked awful and she shuddered to think what lay beneath it.

She shifted her gaze back up to his neck, his chin, his lips, slightly parted, and up to his nose.

Her stomach twisted sharply inside her at the sight: bloody, misshapen and swollen. At least the bleeding had stopped. A small puddle of it was drying on the floor below his head.

His eyes were closed and also a bit swollen, with traces of bruises forming under them.

She’d finished looking over his injuries, her gruesome handiwork, when another flash hit her.

His face, snarling at her with demonic eyes, the same presence that invaded her own body and mind.

She shook her head slightly, trying to dislodge the memories without waking the Doctor.

They hung on, almost as if by the creature’s shadowy claws.

 

 

Panic rose in her, forcing her to relive the terror.

A lump swelled in her throat, stabbing with a deep ache, and a vision of him choking her flared in her mind.

She began to hyperventilate and she shook her head more vigorously, desperate to push it all back down again.

Deal with any lingering aftermath later.

On her own time.

That’s what she did.

That’s what she always did.

But it wasn’t working.

The Doctor took a sharp breath next to her and began to come to.

_Shit shit shit._

She squeezed her eyes shut and focused.

She could do it, she could force it back.

She took deep, purposeful breaths, and concentrated on the Doctor’s hands over her.

She was okay. She was safe. Everything was fine. It was all okay.

Deep breath.

It was all okay.

Deep breath.

She looked up at the Doctor just as his eyes slowly blinked open and found hers.

 

 

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” she said, her voice weak and raspy, “thought you only slept when I’m not looking.”

“Oh shush,” he murmured and smiled before wincing and groaning.

He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and paused, knitting his eyebrows as he looked at her again. “You okay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed. She was going for upbeat, but it came out more like sick parakeet.

His eyes narrowed on her face.

“Clara…”

Her throat tightened again.

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

“You’re not.”

He pressed his fingers into her traitorous pulse.

As if the face he knew so well hadn’t also just given her away.

Her lip quivered as the dam broke and she capitulated with a shaky exhale.

“I’m not.”

His wide hand pressed into her back and he shifted closer to her, resting his chin on top of her head.

She leaned into him, grateful she could hide her face, as her heart continued to hammer.

“I’m sorry, Clara… I’m sorry. This is my fault. I let that- _thing_ into the TARDIS. Stupid old fool.”

She didn’t respond, just let herself be held as he spoke, his voice soothing as it reverberated against her forehead.

 

 

He began the calming, familiar routine they both needed: to speak, to listen, to process.

This was how they moved forward after the horrors. There was comfort in the explanation, the science, in these quiet moments alone.

He spoke gently this time.

“The system we were in yesterday. It had this lovely little dark moon, breathable air, plant life. Plant life in complete darkness. You were sleeping, so I thought- well I was only going to take a quick look, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know what was down there. The TARDIS sensors didn’t pick it up.”

He paused and slid his fingers up from her wrist, squeezed her hand, and drew it to his chest. 

Her silent tears slowed as she listened.

“I was collecting samples from a bioluminescent fern, a slightly sentient fern, as it turns out. It was there, Clara. In the plant. Waiting in the dark. Waiting for an escape, for something with legs and transport. Maybe it had gotten lost, or it was left behind, or imprisoned there. I don’t know.”

He lowered his voice to almost a whisper.

“I brought it back with me. Into the TARDIS. I should have felt it sooner. Should have figured it out sooner. The way it travels, the way to be rid of it. I’m getting too old.” He paused. “I could have killed you.”

She shivered and he pressed her closer as she sniffled and squeezed his fingers.

 

 

“I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Well, once before. My guess is it travels by imprinting on a host, an organic sentient life form. This one needed a host to survive, I expect. Once you’ve touched the host it makes an of imprint your DNA, and it can use that imprint like a bridge, if you’re close enough. It’s a brilliant way to travel really, if you don’t have legs, or a body. So it passed into me, and then into you. But you- you worked out how to stop it. Of course you did. Clara.”

She sighed against him, her lips brushing the fabric of his shirt.

He stiffened slightly and she felt his breath just barely hitch.

Then he continued, even softer.

“Electricity, a large enough shock to sever the link. So when you-” he paused with a quick, almost involuntary clench on her hand and went silent for a moment. “Well after that, it transferred to you. But once it completed the new link, we shared a simultaneous shock. It had nowhere to go. Without a host, it died. Probably.”

“Probably?” her muffled voice shot back.

“Very likely. Ninety-seven percent.”

“You’re making up numbers again,” she grumbled, but her breathing was even and her heartbeat had slowed, mostly.

Her grip suddenly tightened on his hand and she leaned back to look at him.

“Doctor, what about the samples? You said you took samples.”

“Chucked the vials out the door into space. Soon as I realized something was wrong. Couldn’t be sure they played a part, but I didn’t want to take the chance.”

She let out a long breath. “Okay. Okay good. That’s that then.”

“That’s that.”

 

 

They looked at each other for a long moment, both in pain and aching from head to toe, yet not quite ready to move.

The Doctor lifted his hand from her back and wiped away the wetness from under her eyes and bridge of her nose with his thumb. Her eyelashes fluttered against it. All he managed to do was make a mess of the blood on her face. 

“We need to get you cleaned up,” he said.

“Me? You haven’t seen you yet.”

It was meant to be teasing, but she felt a pang as soon as she said it.

Her face fell.

“I’m sorry,” she said and reached up with her free hand.

Her fingertips were feather light on his cheek, afraid to cause him any more pain.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor.” Her voice was weak and her hand was trembling.

“It’s alright, Clara,” he breathed.

He covered her hand with his and tenderly pressed it to his skin. He closed his eyes and with a reassuring grip, held her hand in place.

He opened them again, held her gaze firmly and said, “Don’t you worry. I’m going to be fine. We both are.”

She nodded and he let his eyes fall closed as he rubbed the side of her pinky with his thumb.

She closed her eyes too, letting herself feel the steadiness and warmth of her hands in his.

 

 

They stayed like that for so long Clara nearly drifted back to sleep.

Then she felt his fingertips slide up her arm, over his jacket, and into her hair.

“Clara,” his deep voice whispered, thumb caressing her temple. “Don’t sleep. We need to get you to the med bay.”

She moaned her discontent.

“You…need to…med bay,” came her groggy comeback, eyes still closed.

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, I do.”

One hand slipped from her hair and the other from the hand he held to his chest.

She opened her eyes as he got to his feet, and then he was squatting back down.

He tucked his jacket snuggly over her, slid one arm under her neck and the other under her knees.

Before she could object he lifted her off the floor with a slight grunt and she grimaced at the pain in her neck.

Her pajama bottoms slipped off her feet and once standing he hoisted her a little higher, arm around her shoulders, relieving the pressure on her injury. 

“Sorry,” he said, watching her face relax again. “You alright?” 

She nodded and tucked her chin into the soft collar of his coat.

If he was as drained as she was by their ordeal, he didn’t show it. His arms were strong around her, hands pressed firmly into her shoulder and the bare skin of her knee.

“Let’s go get patched up,” he said looking down at her again with softness in his eyes.

She returned his expression and then rested her head against his shoulder, deciding to let herself be taken care of for the moment.

He gingerly made his way up the stairs with her and headed for the med bay.


	5. Chapter 5

They entered the med bay, bright white and gleaming.

It stung Clara’s eyes and she nuzzled into the Doctor’s shoulder until they adjusted.

There were several slim beds with white linens spaced evenly in the center of the room. Everything was white. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, the square compartments lining the sides of the room, the sink and countertops against the far wall.

The first time she’d seen it she expected it to be crammed with high tech gadgetry, but it was sparse and modern. All the meds and tech were inside the glossy white compartments, bigger on the inside.

He carried her to the closest bed, sat her down and walked to the far wall.

She tucked his jacket securely over her shoulders, up to her chin, and snuggled her arms against the smooth silk lining that covered her to the knee. 

She let her feet swing back and forth as she waited for him, feeling much more alert and awake in the bright room.

He busied himself opening drawers and running the faucet and came back with a basin of hot soapy water and a stack of white washcloths, no bandages or medicines yet.

She watched as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and noticed the redness on the backs of his hands for the first time. More bruising in the making. 

She remembered the feel of her head cradled in those hands, how he’d broken through a near impossible barrier to keep her safe.

The urge to take care of him and mend his injuries overwhelmed her as she watched him roll his sleeves up to his elbows.

 

 

He dunked a washcloth into the basin, wrung it out, and started to bring it to her face.

“Wait, Doctor. What are you doing?”

“Tending to you.”

“What? No. Doctor, give that here,” she said, taking her hand out from beneath the coat. “Never mind me. Your nose is broken, you’re covered in blood, you’re in an absolute state.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh don’t be so stubborn,” she said as she reached for the cloth in his hand. He pulled it back away from her. “What’s wrong with you?” she huffed.

“I have a-“

“Not that again,” she dismissed sharply. “If you’re about to say ‘duty of care’, Doctor- don’t. We need to get you sorted first. You’re clearly in worse shape than I am, and besides-“

“Stop-” he snapped, half startling her. With eyes transfixed on her blood-stained face he said softly, almost begging, “Clara. Please. Just, let me.”

Stunned, she stared at him. He looked lost, wild, helpless.

“Alright. Okay,” she gently relented, still holding his gaze.

Her soft, plaintive eyes shamed him. He furrowed his brow and looked down at the washcloth in his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and turned away from her.

She reached for him and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, lightly tugging him back to face her. His legs softly bumped into her knees and toes. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry too,” she said, and brought his hand with the washcloth up to her temple. She looked back and forth between his eyes and squeezed his wrist. “Just promise me you’ll let me do the same for you when you’ve finished.”

“I promise,” he said solemnly.

She smiled softly and tucked her hand back under his jacket and closed her eyes. “Alright, go on then.”

 

 

He didn’t move at first, so she waited. Then she felt him start to slowly massage the washcloth into her temple. He worked up to her forehead, rubbing slow circles across it. She wrinkled her nose as the bottom of the washcloth passed over it, making her smile.

She watched him dip back into the warm sudsy water and wring it out. She closed her eyes again as he smoothed it over her eyebrows and very gently cleansed around her eyes. His fingertips brushed along her skin as he worked down her nose and over her cheeks. The warmth was soothing and his touch brought a flush to her cheeks.

She opened her eyes again as he sank the cloth back into the muddy red water. She kept them open and looked at him as he slipped his left hand behind her head, tilting it slightly as he smoothed over her jawline on each side. He was engrossed in his work and she hoped he hadn’t noticed how her breathing had quickened. 

After circling over her chin he paused. He wrapped his index finger around a clean corner of the washcloth and she held her breath and closed her eyes as he brushed it over her lips. She parted them slightly as she shivered through an exhale and he made another pass over her bottom lip, achingly slow. 

He pulled his hand away and she opened her eyes to see it suspended in front of her. Her gaze floated up to his face. 

His eyes were on her mouth.

 

 

He straightened abruptly and stopped, like he had short-circuited. He turned and crossed the med bay, dropping the bloody washcloth in the sink.

Clara took a deep, grounding breath and watched him, airy tingles swirling in her head.

He was still for a long moment, his back to her, hands on the edge of the sink.

“Your leg,” he said suddenly in a low voice, “does it hurt?”

She blinked several times. “Um, yeah. Stings actually. All the way to my foot.”

He moved to a wall of the white compartments and opened one, pulling out a cold pack.

He returned to her side, took a new washcloth from the stack, and wrapped it around the pack.

“We’ll fix that,” he said, avoiding her face.

His jacket still covered her, from neck to knees, and he stood awkwardly with the pack in his hands.

“ _Sod it_ ,” she thought. She pulled the coat off, laid it next to her and took the pack from him. At least she was wearing boy shorts, and it’s not like he hadn’t already seen her.

She looked down at her bare legs, wishing she’d shaved above the knee, and saw the burn for the first time.

 

 

Her stomach sank and she felt ill. “Oh my God...”

The skin was completely charred at the contact point, deep brown in the center, angry red swelling surrounding it, and outlined in a bright white that contrasted sharply with her skin tone.

“Oh my God. This is bad. Doctor, oh my _God_. Why didn’t I know it was this bad?”

Her brain went fuzzy and she felt faint.

“Nerve damage,” he said gently as he took the pack back from her to cover the wound and hold it in place.

She leaned forward to try and stop the black spots crawling over her eyes, and he stepped between her knees so she could lay her head against him.

“You’ll be alright, Clara. We’ll fix it,” he said, smoothing his free hand over her hair. 

She wrapped her fingers around his forearm to steady herself and tried to breathe, but the smell of his scorched shirt was tilting her over the edge.

She’d wounded him like this too, only probably much worse.

Her head was spinning and she felt the room careening around her. She reached up, needing another anchor, and curled her fingers into the edge of his trouser pocket.

She shuddered out a distressed moan, and he moved the cold pack to back of her neck, speaking gentle comforts.

The icy sensation helped almost instantly. She tilted her head down for more contact and looked at the Doctor’s shoes, willing herself to not retch on them.

 

 

She held tight to his forearm, feeling his muscles coil as his fingertips made light circles on her arm. Her dizziness began to ease. 

After a few more deep breaths she sat back up, accidentally drawing him in even closer.

She was suddenly very aware of their proximity and the way her chest rose and fell as an entirely different kind of dizziness crept over her. One of his hands was still holding the cold pack to the back of her neck, the other stayed on her forearm. Her hand still clutched his pocket, and her knees rested on either side of him.

“Sorry,” she said, not knowing if she meant her sudden turn or how she clung to him. She couldn’t look at his face as she retracted her hands from him and placed them at her sides on the bed, eyes on his waistcoat.

He said nothing, but he didn’t move away.

He slipped the cold pack from her neck and held it on her thigh again. He let his other hand drop and it came to rest on her knee, then neither of them moved, their quiet shallow breaths the only sound in the room.

“Are you okay now?” he asked, softly breaking the silence.

She gathered her courage as her heart throbbed and slowly tilted her chin up to look at him.

“Yeah, I’m-” her already weak voice fell away as her eyes met his. They were filled with tenderness and concern, a deep intensity blazing in them.

Suddenly they were drawn down to her neck as the light fell across it. He gently lifted her chin and leaned forward to look.

The moment she’d been dreading.

“No, Doctor, don’t. It’s fine, really,” she said, trying to cover it with her hand.

“Let me see it,” he said firmly as he looked into her eyes, and with both hands tucked her hair behind her ears, exposing her neck fully to the light.

She still covered the injury, until he slid his fingers over her hand and she allowed him to gently pull it away.

Across and around her neck was the Doctor’s handprint, red and threatening to form deep bruises, darker where his fingers had clenched into her.

“Oh, Clara,” he breathed. “Clara…”

The color drained from his face and he lost his words.

She closed her eyes as his fingers barely grazed the sensitive skin along the lines of her injury, sending shivers down her arms and legs.

“It wasn’t you,” she sighed breathlessly. “It wasn’t you.”

He delicately placed his fingertips over the dip between her collarbones as her heart beat fiercely.

 

 

He reached down, took the cold pack off her thigh and replaced it with his hand, palm covering the injury.

She opened her eyes as he slid the hand on her neck up slowly, leaned in close, and dipped his head below her chin.

His breath ghosted over her skin, sending new shivers down her body.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, her breaths heavy and her thoughts hazy.

She gripped the bed linens tightly in her hands.

“Just wait,” he whispered back shakily.

He touched his lips to her neck and her veins filled with an intense warmth, tingles spreading and pulsing over her skin.

The same warmth spread into her leg.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a golden light spiraling out from under her chin and his hand on her thigh.

“Oh God, no, what are you doing?” she panted, as her eyes fluttered closed.

“Shh,” he murmured against her skin, “Trust me. I’m a Doctor.”

She threw her hands to his shoulders with a sharp gasp and held on tight as he pressed his lips harder into her neck and exquisite euphoria flooded her body.

She was transcendent, every nerve alight with rapture. 

She opened her eyes and saw the golden glow shimmering through her hand on his shoulder and understanding washed over her.

She slid her hand down his shirt, opened a button, gently pulled the burned fabric from his skin, and pressed her tingling palm to his chest.

“Clara,” he gasped and moaned against her.

Heat pulsated through her palm and his hearts hammered wildly against it.

They pressed desperately into each other, their breathing frantic, as they glowed in sparkling, ecstatic radiance.


	6. Chapter 6

Gradually the light faded and they clung to each other, trembling and gasping for breath.

The Doctor massaged his thumb over the freshly healed skin of her thigh as they recovered, and rested his forehead on her shoulder.

Clara’s entire body tingled and buzzed, as if her soul was resonating within her. Or, just maybe, the Doctor’s.

The explosive energy finished dissolving away, and even as he held her close she selfishly longed to feel it again.

It had been like touching his innermost being with her bare hands. He had opened himself to her, fully laid himself bare for the first time, and she had given herself back with everything she had. It was an intimacy she hadn’t even known existed before.

She nestled her cheek to his head, his curls soft on her skin, and circled her fingertips over the center of his chest, smiling to herself. New, healthy skin. 

Their breaths began to even out and flow in tandem, but neither of them moved to separate.

The Doctor slipped the hand on her neck into her hair and allowed himself to rub a silky lock of it between his thumb and forefinger.

Clara felt herself relax even further, melting into his soft caresses. 

If she could suspend one moment in time forever, she decided it might be this one.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his curls. 

It no longer hurt to speak.

He didn’t respond. He simply nuzzled into her neck and curled his fingers further up into her hair. 

He cradled her head in his hand, delicately pressing with his fingers and holding her close, as if she were something infinitely fragile and precious.

She let herself savor his unguarded affection a minute longer and slid her hands to his neck.

“Doctor,” she whispered, “let me see you.”

 

 

He reluctantly lifted his head from her shoulder, not wanting to part from her yet.

He kept his hand in her hair and slid the other to her knee.

Their eyes met and the smile that spread across her face was so warm he felt heat rise to his cheeks.

As they held their gaze they both sensed it, a new but subtle shift in the atmosphere.

It felt like openness.

It felt like honesty. 

She touched one finger to the bridge of his perfect nose and slid it down.

“Good as new,” she sighed and looked him over. “You’re still a bit of a mess though.”

She twisted to reach for a clean washcloth, causing the muscles of her thigh to tense against him and he let his hand drop from her hair to her knee.

“May I?”

He nodded, his voice lost somewhere in her deep eyes.

As she dipped the cloth into the water he knew again just how little he could deny her when she asked with those big brown eyes.

 

 

She turned to face him again, cocked her head playfully up at him, slipped her left hand behind his neck and gently pulled him lower.

“You’re much too tall,” she teased, shaking her head at him.

“You’re just too short,” he said gently, barely finding his voice again.

“I am not. I’m travel sized, for your convenience.” And when she giggled at him a lightness flittered in his chest.

He smiled and shyly glanced away.

When he looked into her eyes again her head was still cocked, but she regarded him contemplatively, with a small smile on her lips, like she knew a secret.

It wasn’t a secret.

He didn’t know if he’d be able keep anything hidden from her anymore.

She saw him. Straight into him.

He’d never felt so exposed.

She must have sensed it was too much, because she broke their eye contact, looked down his face, and brought the washcloth up. 

 

 

She pressed it delicately into his skin, beside his nose. The cloth was cooler on his skin than he expected, but her fingertips were warm.

He leaned down a little further for her and his hands slid up her legs.

He felt her skin shiver under his palms, and her fingertips tighten on his neck, but her face stayed set in concentration.

She finished around his nose and worked down to his lips, gently moving across them. They tingled under her touch and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation.

Once she was done with his face she dipped back into the water, wrung out the washcloth and started down his neck, gliding it over his skin in long smooth motions.

He felt every ounce of tenderness she put into her work, helping to set him to rights, washing off the blood she’d spilt.

An act of penance, of love.

 

 

After she’d cleansed down to his collar, she touched her fingertips to the top button and paused, unsure of where their boundaries lay.

She set the washcloth down on the bed beside her, eyes fixed on his collar.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t move a muscle, but his fingertips were tense on her thighs.

Perhaps there had been enough boundary pushing for one day.

Her eyes drifted down to the button open above his waistcoat, his healed skin showing between the edges of burned cotton.

She couldn’t resist one last urge and slid her hand down to it, lightly pulling the fabric aside to look for the first time.

He took in a deep breath and she watched his chest rise and fall with it, his breath grazing over her hair.

The skin where she’d burned him was clean and smooth.

She let her fingertips rest against it one more time, marveling at the small miracle she’d shared with him.

His breath became shallow and she pulled her hand away, sensing she was overwhelming him.

His hand suddenly covered hers and she gasped as he pressed her palm to his chest, his heartbeats steadily thumping into it, letting her feel the fullness of what she’d done for him.

 

 

She stared at his hand over hers for a moment and then lifted her eyes to his.

Overwhelmed. Yes, he was.

But he didn’t shy away from her, didn’t retreat.

He picked up the washcloth in his other hand and set it back into hers as she stared at him, stunned.

She watched him slowly undo the second button of his shirt followed by the first, mesmerized by his hands and the muscles of his arms.

“Go on then,” he whispered deeply, half determined, half terrified. “Don’t stop.”

Her hand trembled as she brought it to his skin again, above where her palm lay on his chest. It should have been no different than what she’d done moments earlier, and yet it was.

Utterly. 

 

 

The blood from his shirt had stained his skin. She began rubbing slow, careful circles starting above his sternum.

He put his hands back on her knees and she tried to concentrate as her brain turned to static.

She felt his nervous breaths against her hair and she bit her lip to help her focus on her task.

She decided she needed to finish as quickly as possible, and spread the cloth over her hand.

The hand on his hearts moved over the firm muscles of his chest as she pushed his shirt to one side and then the other so she could cleanse his skin in large strokes.

She came to his collarbones and smoothed gently over them and up his neck slightly.

The cloth became too stained to wash cleanly. She was lightheaded, and acutely aware of her bare legs on either side of him.

She couldn’t continue, couldn’t breathe properly. 

It would have to be good enough.

Her thoughts were racing. 

She needed to move back, to take some deep breaths, to be in more than just her underwear and a tank top.

What she really needed was a cold shower.

 

 

His breaths continued softly over her hair as she dropped the washcloth back on the bed.

“That’s as good as it’s gonna get for now,” she said, trying not to sound breathless.

She couldn’t look at him. “You’re gonna have to go get cleaned up properly.”

His hands slid up her legs again as he took a step, closing the already small distance between himself and the bed as her breath hitched.

“Clara.” His voice was heavy.

She panicked and started talking faster. “Me too I mean I’m a still bloody mess and you’re always telling me how I need a wash-“

“Clara,” he said again, and slid his hands all the way up her legs to her waist.

A strong shiver rushed through her under his firm but gentle touch and she fell silent.

 

 

She kept her eyes on his chest as he leaned in, and closed them when he touched his lips to the top of her head.

They took a deep breath in together and he massaged her waist lightly.

The air was charged with panic and elation and it prickled into their skin.

He dipped lower and softly pressed his lips to her forehead. 

She brought her trembling hands to his elbows as she leaned slightly into him.

His hands moved slowly up her back, thumbs sliding against the sides of her ribcage and she gasped out a shaky, half-giggling whimper.

She lifted her hands to his biceps and squeezed them with nervous tension.

His cheek brushed down the side of her face and he held it next to hers as their shallow breaths picked up.

He gathered his courage and gently brought his lips to the soft skin by her ear.

She let out a short moan at the contact and he kissed her again, further back, where her jaw met her neck.

She slipped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close.

He nuzzled into her with a groan and held her tighter.

Leaning down into her, he tipped her back a little, and pressed their chests together as he enveloped her in his solid arms.

He felt her heartbeat, strong against his.

Clara. His Clara.

 

 

He stayed there for long moments, just wanting to hold her, to be held, to breathe in the sweet scent of her shampoo.

He’d denied himself for too long and his emotions overpowered him as he clung to her.

She was the first to finally move, as her bubbling nerves settled into a quiet longing.

Her hold loosened on his shoulders and she brought her hands to his neck, sliding her fingers into his open collar.

He relaxed his grip on her and pulled them upright again, blinking away a trace of wetness in his eyes.

She brought her elbows down in front of her and let her hands glide down his chest, feeling his hearts beating into them.

Leaning in she placed a single kiss right between them, one last tender atonement. 

 

 

The Doctor kept his arms around her and slid his hands into her hair, fingertips caressing the nape of her neck, prompting her to look at him.

She lifted her head and saw the evidence of his emotions sparkling in his eyes, his complete and helpless devotion to her written across his face.

She thought she’d already seen him at his most open, his most exposed, but she’d been wrong.

This was the moment. Now.

It sent a pang through her chest and she smiled through the sweet ache of it, her own eyes glistening up at him.

 

 

“Clara,” he whispered reverently.

“Doctor,” she breathed, as an eager yearning pulled her toward him and she felt her chin tilting upwards. “My Doctor.”

She kept one hand over his hearts and slid the other to his neck, gently pulling him towards her, eyes fixed on his lips.

He bent down, letting her lead him with her light touch, smoothing his thumb along the side of her neck.

His expression was content as his eyes fell closed, but she felt his hearts racing.

She closed her own when she finally felt the heat of his breath over her lips, and she pressed gently up into him.

 

 

A soft whimper escaped him as their lips met and he slipped one hand further into her hair. The other caressed up and down her back.

She sighed, barely breaking contact, lips still touching, and kissed him again, running her fingers up into his curls.

Everything was slow, sweet, and tender.

No hurry or rush, just gentle tingles, soft touches and honeyed whispers of her name. 

 

*****

 

The Doctor sat facing the mantle, knees bent and his socked feet planted on a small ornate ottoman in front of him.

After showers, clean clothes and food, they had curled up together on a small couch by the fire in the library.

Clara was snuggled up beside him, legs bent over his lap, his arms curled loosely around her waist.

Her head rested against his shoulder and she absentmindedly prodded her fingers into the holes of his sweater. 

In the quiet stillness of the TARDIS her mind drifted to the sounds of his screaming that had wrenched her from sleep. To the horrible things that had happened in the small hours of the morning.

She shuddered and he held her more securely and gently rocked her in his arms, already knowing what was wrong.

“It’s okay now,” he whispered into her hair and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

She nuzzled into his neck and breathed deeply. “I know...”

 

 

He rubbed his thumb up and down her arm, feeling the chill on it.

Reaching behind him he grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and tenderly draped it around her.

She kissed his neck softly in return as sleep began to press in on her. At least it hadn’t been all bad. They’d never done anything like this before; they’d never done a lot of things before. 

Beautiful thoughts of golden light, healing touches, beating hearts, and warm lips helped to wash away the bad ones.

She kissed him again, enjoying the new sweetness of it and he held her tight, barely rocking them back and forth.

It was all new to him too. New and more than a little frightening, but Clara made him brave. She always made him brave. 

He hummed a slow, deep melody, filling the silence with something soothing for her and eased his fingertips through her hair.

Gradually they drifted off in the dim firelight.

Together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who's taken the time to read and comment on this!
> 
> An even bigger thank you to my incredible beta, Marvella15. I probably wouldn't have written more than a chapter or two without your encouragement, and this fic wouldn't be what it is without you. Thank you for helping me through my biggest undertaking so far, with brainstorming, constant enthusiasm for what I'd keysmashed out, and helping me whip it into shape. You are the actual best.


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